section7mfu | Twelve Days of Christmas: Bring on the Good Cheer! Part V

The two men had gone their separate ways after their meeting with Lisa Rogers and Janice Jones; Illya to the labs and Napoleon to their office to peruse the rest of the surveillance films. Before they had done so, Illya had accepted Napoleon’s invitation to dinner. When Napoleon had finished all his tasks for the day, he called the Russian and declared that since it was after eight, it was past time to leave.

“I’ll meet you at the Reception desk,” Illya replied, “I hope you have something good for dinner as I am very hungry.”

Napoleon chuckled, “I’m learning that you’re always hungry! I have steaks defrosted and a couple of potatoes to bake and I’ll throw together a salad. We’ll be eating late, but we’ll be eating well.”

They handed in their badges and stepped outside where a Section III agent sat in a sedan ready to drive them home. They rode in companionable silence watching the sights unique to New York City during the Christmas season: Salvation Army Santas ringing bells, skaters at Rockefeller Plaza, store windows completely decked out in holiday themes and everywhere, people loaded down with shopping bags and packages.

They said goodnight to the driver and entered Napoleon’s building. When his private elevator door shut Illya asked, “Did you watch the rest of the surveillance footage?”

Nodding, Napoleon answered, “Yes, for all the good it did. No one other than Miss Jones entered our office after hours and she only did it the one time I had already seen. I don’t know what’s going on. We can brainstorm about it while we eat.”

The door slid open on the penthouse floor and when they exited Illya remarked, “I must be hungrier than I thought; I swear I smell dinner cooking in your apartment.”

Napoleon pulled his gun. “Then I must be as starved as you because I smell it, too.”

“Could it be your Aunt Amy?” Illya inquired as he too pulled his Walther from his shoulder holster.

The senior agent shook his head. “She doesn’t have a key and even if she did, she would never just drop in like this; someone is in my home.” He inspected his locks which did not appear tampered with, but when he tried the knob, it was unlocked.

Hyper – vigilant now, they flicked the safeties off their weapons and walked stealthily into the apartment. Mouth – watering smells were emerging from the kitchen which they ignored as they moved toward the living room where they could tell by the dancing shadows that there was a fire in the fireplace.

Suddenly, a voice came from the living room. “Napoleon, Illya, it’s all right. I’m not armed!”

Napoleon and Illya crouched and stepped into the room, guns aimed in the direction of the voice. They straightened up in shock to see a rather large white – bearded man dressed in a red suit trimmed in white, a wide black leather belt with matching black boots and a red and white hat sitting in Napoleon’s recliner.

Illya took a step closer. “Who are you?” he demanded, “And how did you get past the alarms on the door?”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I am exactly who you think I am and I didn’t need to use the door. I wanted to talk to you boys face to face. It seems I created a little confusion for you and that was not my intent.”

Illya was quickly losing patience. “You are not Santa Claus! I am Russian! Why would you not appear to me as Ded Moroz? Napoleon, I will get our answers,” he shouted as he reached to snatch the man from the chair. In a blink of an eye, he disappeared.

“The reason I’m Santa Claus,” the voice continued conversationally from the couch which caused both men to whip around to see him, “is because this is the United States. If we were in Russia, I would have appeared to you as Ded Moroz. When in Rome…”

“Okay,” Napoleon finally said. “I’ll buy into this madness for a minute. Santa, why are you here? And why have you apparently cooked us dinner? And, shouldn’t I turn off the oven before it burns?”

“Your last mission took a lot out of both of you. I have a special list for people who not only are good, but also do good. You are both on that list. Without that list, a lot of people, like police and soldiers, would never get presents and that wouldn’t be fair. I’m the one who gave you the presents you’ve received, so far, and I’m the one who decorated your office. I thought the two plants Janice gave you needed company.”

“What I want you two young men to do this holiday season is: Enjoy it. Napoleon, I know you intend to include this young man here in your Christmas celebration with your aunt and that is admirable. Illya, this man is working very hard to become your friend. Let him be your friend. He’s right, Mr. Waverly saw something in the two of you that he thought meshed well.”

The Russian’s eyes bulged in shock. “How, how do you know he said that to me?”

Santa stood and laughed until his belly was jiggling like jelly. “I know when you’re awake! Now, gentlemen, I’ve been here long enough. This is my busy season and I have to get back to work. Accept the gifts you’ll receive this Christmas and be good to each other.” He began to fade away before their eyes. When he was almost gone, he solidified again long enough to say, “Whenever you take your dinner out of the oven, it will be perfectly cooked.” And then he was gone.

They stared at the spot where Santa had stood and then, stared at each other. Slowly holstering their guns, Illya said, “What are we supposed to do, now?”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. “Eat dinner, I guess. I’m starving.”

As Santa had promised, the steaks were perfectly cooked to a medium rare and everything else was delicious. They both noticed that all the food stayed at an optimum temperature and when they wanted more of something, it was there.

Illya looked at the man who was his partner and who was becoming his friend. “Napoleon, are you going to tell anyone about this?”

“No, Tovarisch, I think we should keep this between us.”

The Russian looked at him. “You have never called me that before.”

“We are comrades, Illya.” He raised his glass of merlot and toasted. “To friends, to Christmas and to Santa.”

Illya clinked his glass against Napoleon’s. “Nostrovia!”